


Patrick's Place

by endemictoearth



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 14:08:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14875209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endemictoearth/pseuds/endemictoearth
Summary: A 'what if David HAD spent the night at Patrick's when Alexis had lice' mini-AU.





	Patrick's Place

**Author's Note:**

> Can't resist scratching a 'what if' itch! I'm cautiously dipping my toe into writing fics for these two, because the canon has been so wonderful and so kind, I don't want to disturb the wonderful forcefield around these two! I also didn't want anything major to happen in this that would make 3x13 impossible/redundant. (I mean, I know. It's fic, but . . . gah!)
> 
> Since I'm just changing adverbs to adjectives and back again at this point . . . here goes nothing. Hope you enjoy!

Stevie shrugs ostentatiously, putting on a show for Patrick, but gives David a cringe-worthy wink/smirk combination when Patrick’s back is turned. “Yeah, I know I ‘offered’ first, but I totally forgot that my apartment is being fumigated tonight and tomorrow. It’s this whole lice thing, y’know? Can’t be too careful. I’ll have to crash on the couch in the office, but now you’re free to take Patrick up on his offer. If it still stands, that is?”

Patrick turns to nod his head immediately, but David suspects there might be a tiny flare of panic behind his eyes.

“Huh. It's very _odd_ that you forgot something so unusual, Stevie. Did you just find out about this fumigation business in the last hour, or . . . ?” David narrows his eyes to slits sharp enough to stab her with, but she cheerfully ignores his venomous gaze. 

Stevie rolls her eyes like she’s playing to the cheap seats. “Yeah, no. I’ve just had SO MUCH going on lately, what with taking on more responsibility at the motel, it just slipped my mind.”

She glances at Patrick to see his reaction, but he’s gnawing on the inside corner of his lip, a glazed look in his eyes; his mind seems miles away. She looks back at David and they conduct a silent conversation:

  

> David (eyes still slits, though expressive enough to ask): _Your apartment isn’t really being fumigated, is it?_
> 
>  
> 
> Stevie (eyes go casual for second before widening with intent): _I’m not telling, but seize the day, David._
> 
>  
> 
> David (eyes grow with apprehension and he shakes his head in confusion): _What does THAT mean?_
> 
>  
> 
> Stevie (left eyebrow creeps up her forehead): _You’re clever enough to work it out, David._
> 
>  

“Sorry, gotta dash and grab some stuff before my apartment gets bug-bombed!” She’s gone in an instant. If this was a cartoon, their door would still be creaking back and forth on it’s hinges, a cloud outline of Stevie hovering in the air.

David stares at Stevie’s rapidly retreating figure in horror before turning to see Patrick’s furrowed brow.

He sighs.

“You don’t really have to put me up, Patrick. My parents’ said I could crash on a cot in their room. And while that was an offer I VEHEMENTLY refused at the time, I don’t want to impose on your kindness. It was good of you to offer, though.” Internally, David kicks himself for giving Patrick such a solid out. He can’t stop himself from continuing: “I mean, how bad could my mother’s night terrors really be?”

Patrick appears to be struggling internally about the situation, but at the mention of the terrors, he squares his shoulders and nods decisively. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to, David. You should stay with me—I mean, at my place—tonight.”

David crosses his arms in what he hopes is a nonchalant way. “I’m only going to ask you one more time if you’re sure, because this conversation is becoming far too circuitous.”

Patrick laughs at that. “Is that you asking? Yeah, I’m sure. Decision made.” He claps, punctuating his verdict. “Alright, let’s get back to work!”

The next few hours seem to crawl by. Patrick goes in the back to work on the inventory system, which leaves David out front arranging and rearranging displays only to put them back the way they were originally half an hour later.

Around 7:00, Patrick wanders out from the back, pulls his keys out of his pocket, and asks, “Do you need to run to the motel to get your stuff?”

David’s heart leaps into his throat for a moment. He swallows it back down, shaking his head in annoyance. “Um, no.” He leans down to pick up the bag he’d thrown stuff into that morning. “I packed in a hurry this morning, so I’m not sure what exactly’s in here, but I’m sure it’ll be fine for one night.”

Patrick smiles toothily, no doubt at the thought of David running around in a panicked packing frenzy. 

David smirks. “Of course, if it had been _me_ who’d gotten the lice, Alexis would have been ready to go in under ten minutes. I’ve lost count of the number of times she’s had to run to a consulate in the dead of night.”

Nodding with mock solemnity, Patrick says, “That would prepare you for a swift escape, yeah.”

A beat of silence passes between them. The warm light of the setting sun fills the front of the store with an amber glow. Their eyes meet and neither can stop the small smiles that steal onto their faces. This is a good moment, but could be leading to a better one.

“Alright, then, let’s go,” Patrick says, breaking the spell as he strides to the door.

David flips the switch behind the cash, turning off the lights Patrick installed. Patrick turns over the sign from OPEN to CLOSED. David locks the door and they make their way to Patrick’s car. 

It’s a short drive; less than five minutes. Patrick pulls up and parks on the street in front of a two story brick bungalow. There is already a car in the driveway. And four signs in the front yard with Ray Butani’s face on them, each advertising a different service. 

David opens his mouth to speak, but Patrick beats him to it. “I live with Ray. Well, not WITH Ray, but he rents me the room upstairs. When I got into town, well, there wasn’t a lot available—Ray’s a very good real estate agent.”

David’s mouth clamps shut to swallow his surprised amusement and he murmurs, “Mmm-HMMmmm.”

Once inside, Patrick hastily explains the situation to Ray, who shrugs good-naturedly. He then bundles David up the stairs to his room.

“So . . . _this_ is where you live?” David glances around before gingerly lifting one corner of Patrick’s buffalo check duvet cover, unconsciously checking for thread count. He perches warily on the edge of the queen bed. There isn’t anywhere else to sit, apart from a rickety looking rocking chair near the window.

Patrick is boring two holes in the carpet with how intently he’s staring at it, but glances up at David’s remark to reply, “Yeah, it’s not much, but I’m on the hunt . . . for my own place.”

“Sooooo . . . this morning, when you offered for me to crash at _your_ place . . .” David trails off, a half-smirk playing on his lips.

Patrick looks down, swallowing a smile. “Yeah, I just sort of blurted that out, sorry.” He clears his throat. “Seemed like the thing to do.”

David raises his eyebrows in silent inquiry before asking, “So, are we going to top and tail or . . . ?”

Patrick glances up quickly to see David’s expression, but he’s too late, David’s looking over his shoulder at the painting of bears dancing in a circle that hangs over the bed. “I’ll . . . I’m going to sleep downstairs. On Ray’s sofa. Of course.”

“Oh, of course!” David stands up to make a minute adjustment to the lampshade next to Patrick’s bed. “I mean, where else?”

Patrick comes up behind David, but doesn’t touch him. “It’s . . . I couldn’t help myself from offering,David, because I . . .”

David bristles, tenses, waits. “Because you . . . ?”

Patrick puffs out a sigh of held breath. David feels it tickle across the side of his neck. “Because I . . . I like you, David. I’m actually a little worried about how much I like you.” 

David wants to turn around, but instead steals a quick glance at Patrick over his shoulder and sees he’s Right. There. Inches away. David takes a breath and carefully and cautiously leans back into Patrick’s chest. His core instinctively tightens, just in case Patrick steps away. “Worried? Why?” 

Patrick is silent for a long moment, and David starts to doubt himself. He sways forward an inch, trying to half-undo what can’t be undone, but Patrick grips his elbow to keep him close. “I’m . . . not sure what’s happening to me. I find myself doing a lot of things lately that I can’t explain, even to myself.”

David is dazed. Patrick hasn’t pulled away, or jumped back, or shoved him away in a heterosexual panic. He simply lets David lean on him. He thinks he can feel Patrick’s heartbeat through their layers of clothing. He knows he can feel Patrick’s breath, a shaky exhale just behind David’s right ear.

David’s brain doesn’t know what to do with this information. He’s definitely taken note of Patrick, but never allowed himself to imagine Patrick felt anything similar for him. After all, he’s a business major clad in mid-range denim. Dark wash, straight-leg; safe and boring. Well, maybe not entirely straight. And, now that he feels Patrick’s grip tighten a little on his arm, definitely not boring, either.

What David really wants is to share the bed with Patrick, but he gets the strong sense that Patrick isn’t ready for that, not even if they keep a line of pillows down the middle. But he goes hollow at the thought of Patrick downstairs on the sofa, a world away. Suddenly, he’s struck with an idea, and turns around to face Patrick. “Do you maybe have a—“ he flails an unhelpful gesture, trying to think of the word “—sleeping bag?” That’s it. 

His face is very close to Patrick’s in this new configuration. And Patrick isn’t looking at the floor anymore. He’s very intently keeping his eyes trained on David’s, which is equal parts unnerving and thrilling. 

“Sleeping bag? You want to sleep on the floor?”

David scoffs before he can stop himself. “No, of course not. I know you’re far too gallant to let a guest sleep on the floor.” He clears his throat. “No, I meant for you. It would be like . . . a sleepover!” Not that he knows much about them, never having been invited to any growing up, and let’s just say the one he tried to have in Grade 5 was . . . poorly attended.

“Sleepover?” Patrick parrots.

“Yeah, that way, we can . . . talk. Maybe, get to know each other a little better? I mean, while NOT folding sweaters or unpacking cases of hand cream, that is.” He gifts Patrick with a genuine smile, no sarcasm or unease behind it, just hope.

Patrick nods, not breaking his gaze. “I do have a sleeping bag. That’s a great idea, David.” He reaches forward to clasp David’s hand for a beat. “I’ll go get it, and maybe some snacks. I’ll be right back up in a bit.” He lets go and heads down the stairs, glancing over his shoulder as he does.

David tries to get his smile under control, clamping his lips around his teeth, and looking around the room for . . . something. Or nothing. He’s just happy, and happy to wait for Patrick as long as it takes.

He sits down on the end of the bed, more deliberately this time. He listens to the low sound of Patrick talking to Ray, and then hears the unmistakable popping of microwave popcorn. A few minutes later, Patrick appears at the top of the stairs, sleeping bag rolled under one arm, bowl of popcorn, bag of chips and two beers somehow balanced in his hands. David doesn’t stand up, but reaches out to take something so he doesn’t drop the lot.

As he kneels to unroll the bag beside the bed, Patrick looks up at David. “I just want you to know, I think things are getting a little clearer.”

David smiles, and scoots to the edge of the bed. He holds his breath a moment before leaning forward to press a kiss onto Patrick’s cheek. “I’m glad to hear it.”


End file.
